


you should know that I bloom just for you

by drinkingstars



Series: we're on each other's team [3]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Domestic Fluff, Drinking & Talking, Fanservice, M/M, Sex Talk, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, patrick pov, wine and pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 15:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19298809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkingstars/pseuds/drinkingstars
Summary: Just so we’re clear, for the record: you, David Rose, wanted me to take it slower.





	you should know that I bloom just for you

**Author's Note:**

> to quote the young poet Troye Sivan: "Bops Bout Bottoming"

David insists on changing the sheets while Patrick flips through a stack of local delivery and takeout menus. He brought a whole set, neatly washed and folded, clearly not hotel sheets so they must be from his own collection. Patrick watches him and can’t help but smile, but also wonder if it’s a bit premature, since there’s every decent chance they will mess them up again later.

He hopes they mess them up again later.

David looks up from tucking a neat fold into the crisp top sheet and catches Patrick looking.

“What? This was unacceptable to continue lying on. And Stevie’s sheets...we probably should just burn those.” He gestures at the piles of bedding he has banished to the far corner of the room.

Patrick shakes his head at him fondly, even though he thinks they could probably just wash those for Stevie and they would be fine.

“Nothing. You’re great. You’re...what do you want to eat?” Patrick swerves, going back to the menus because he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence otherwise. He has sorted the pile of menus into definite No’s (he doesn’t even want to imagine David’s reaction to the combination barbecue and sushi delivery place in Elmcrest) and a few Maybe’s. “This pizza place is actually pretty good?”

David turns his way with piqued interest. “Pizza. Mmm that could be good. Do they do like a burrata and fresh basil?”

“Um,” Patrick turns the menu over and reads the toppings again, and damn it he really likes David. “They have mushrooms? Of some sort?”

“Or maybe like a pesto and roasted asparagus?” David adds wistfully, tilting his head as he shakes and fluffs a pillow into a fresh pillowcase.

“Pepperoni and black olives?” Patrick counters, and David scrunches up his face in horror.

“You know what I love in the fall, is a roasted butternut squash pizza with sage brown butter. This place in Montreal does one with chèvre and toasted hazelnuts...so good.”

David’s face and enunciation of each ingredient paint a sense memory of this pizza for Patrick so vivid that Patrick wants to learn how to bake just so he can make it for him. He files it away in a mental list he doesn’t even know he’s keeping yet of vague, shadowy ideas about _David_ and _the future_.

“Ok...chicken sausage, artichoke hearts...and yes, they actually do have pesto,” and that’s Patrick’s final offer. He looks up triumphantly and David drops a pillow to cross over to him, put his hands on his face and kiss him, slow and sweet and David’s lips are soft, smiling against Patrick’s as Patrick reaches up to touch him. They can’t stop. But they _definitely_ need to eat.

David finally pulls back from kissing him, and again thumbs softly at the corner of Patrick’s mouth. “Perfect. Let’s do it. I’m starving.”

*

They make out until the pizza comes, and David produces from his seemingly bottomless overnight bag, a good bottle of red Patrick recognizes from the store shelves.

“David, maybe -”

“Before you say anything, yes I actually paid us for it,” David cuts him off, putting a finger to Patrick’s lips in a shush but Patrick just smiles up at him, kisses his fingertip. Paid _us_ for it, David said. Us us us.

“I was going to say...maybe we should drink some water, first. Or at least, also water.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s probably. Water is good. We’re probably a little...drained. Ew. That wasn’t. Ew.” David just flaps his hands to stop himself and focuses on opening the pizza. Patrick laughs lovingly under his breath and goes into the kitchen to get some kind of drinking vessels, and a corkscrew, the only kitchen utensils a sensible person would reliably count on Stevie owning.

“Shall we dine in the formal dining room or the parlor?” Patrick asks, coming back with actual stemware and huge plastic fast food cups full of water. David is already halfway through a slice of pizza right out of the box.

“Umm,” he says around a mouthful of cheese. “Right here is fine?”

Patrick just smiles softly at him again, picking up his slice of pizza, feeling charmed and bemused like he always does by David, and wonders for probably the thousandth time since they started spending time together, how he ever found this person, and how he could already feel so important to him.

David sets down his pizza long enough to drink some water and then cautiously examines the stemware offerings at Chez Budd. “So we have your standard, clear 10 ounce goblet, obviously stolen from a mid-level hotel room service tray, or we have the ‘2012 Elm Valley Hot Air Balloon Festival’ keepsake glass with matching dangly balloon charm,” David pronounces, raising both glasses and grinning.

Patrick finishes chewing his bite of pizza and reaches for one. “I think we both know who’s the hot air balloon and who’s the room service one,” he says.

David gapes at him like he’s doing advanced calculus in his head.

“I mean you’re right, duh...but you can be a purple dangly hot air balloon charm if you want to, you know.”

“I’m not though. I’m...the standard issue,” is what Patrick comes up with, and he regrets saying it as soon as it’s out of his mouth. David recoils like he’s wounded, then reaches for the wine and the corkscrew.

He neatly removes the foil and starts twisting the corkscrew, thinking out loud. “You know...there was probably a time that I thought that about you? But just the fact that you’ve chosen to be…” David searches for a word and Patrick knows that feeling, caught himself doing the same thing earlier. “...involved...however. With me. Is proof you are...unusual, to say the least.”

Patrick dutifully drinks a good few gulps of water from the oversized soda cup with the polar bear wearing a Christmas scarf on one side. “I’m not saying I think I’m boring? But my whole life, I have never thought of myself as unusual.”

“You never thought of yourself as gay, either,” David says with a flick of his wrist, smoothly extracting the cork with a satisfying pop.

“Yeow, ouch, David,” Patrick laughs, clutching his heart. “I...you’re right. And I was terribly, terribly unhappy. But I didn’t think about myself enough to even ask why. So, you’re right.”

“That makes me so sad,” David says, quite seriously, serving them two modest pours of wine.

“Me too, sometimes. Though I feel like I’m...we’re doing a pretty good job.” Patrick hopes that came out right, takes another bite of pizza.

“Making up for lost time?” David asks, a little high-pitched and falsely bright, to Patrick’s ear, and he knows that tone by now. He knows David...really well already, and now he feels like an asshole.

“David I didn’t mean to imply - ” he starts in his own weak defense as soon as he’s swallowed his pizza. David sets his balloon glass down, shaking his head furiously.

“You didn’t imply anything. That was me. It’s just, um. A self-protection thing. It’s...from another time, in my life. And I’m working on it.” David says, and it’s so plainly spoken and honest that Patrick has to lean in and kiss David, right then. His heart feels strung so tight he doesn’t know how he has any more room for these feelings. They just keep getting bigger.

He feels his cheeks flush and sits back in his chair at the little rickety table, drinks some more water.

“I’m working on...a lot of things,” Patrick says bravely, wanting to extend himself in the way that David just did, because that was new, and that felt big. Patrick’s heart feels tight again.

“Like being gay?” David asks, still chirpy but softer than before. It softens Patrick, makes him duck his head a little.

“Yes, actually. There’s...a lot...to know. To learn.” Patrick carefully adds, taking a slow sip of wine, which makes his cheeks flush even worse. David puts his pizza down and sits up very straight in his chair, at full attention.

“Do tell,” David asks, and Patrick squirms under the intensity of him. He might regret this turn. He should have had more wine, damn it.

“Um. Do you like, uh, both ways? Do you like to…”

“When we were teenagers my mother always said if you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it,” David interjects and that is the _last_ image of Mrs. Rose he wanted stuck in his head forever, but also oddly clarifying for Patrick.

“Fuck. Do you like to fuck, and get fucked? Jesus,” Patrick exhales and takes a bigger sip of his wine. He knows he said much filthier things than that just hours ago, in the heat of the moment. Talking about them plainly is going to have to be one of those things he’s working on, he guesses.

David sits back, looking very pleased with himself, but also thoughtful. “Does that make you nervous?” He finally says, picking at a piece of artichoke on his plate.

“No no, I want to. Not nervous...excited! I want to! I mean, if you want that. I definitely want to try, I mean I think - ” he starts to ramble but David comes to his rescue, smirking a little at one corner of his mouth.

“Yes I like both,” David says, playing with the dangly wine charm on his glass. “And no, you don’t have to. Not everyone does. There’s anatomy to consider, there’s psychological ramifications, there’s physical preparation - ”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that, all that aside though...you want to, with me, right?” Patrick holds his breath, like somehow there’s a lot that hangs in this particular balance, and that’s not right, he knows it. He knows none of this hinges on sex. But still. He has been thinking about it a _lot_.

David touches his chest again and makes a _face_ , the one that, if Patrick in his limited gay vocabulary had to put a word to, he would call _bitchy_. “Oh...I’m sorry, have I been in some way unclear about my seemingly insatiable desire for you tonight?”

“No, no. I think it’s pretty clear we’re on the same page now. And I just. I really want to try.” Patrick picks up the wine bottle, pours them both another probably ill-advised large splash of wine. 

David squints and cocks his head like he’s focusing really hard, trying to pick out the important cues here from what Patrick is saying. Patrick thinks he’s being pretty clear.

David finally blinks his eyes open wide. “Oh you mean tonight?”

“Yes? I mean, I assumed we were trying everything we could...get around to,” Patrick makes a face, trying to figure out if that could be read as an unintended anal sex pun. He takes another sip of wine, then water, then wine again.

David is still looking at him, deliberatively. Patrick feels raw, and exposed, and he’s not sure in a good way. “David, I - ”

“I’m not fucking you tonight.” David says.

“What? Why?” Patrick pouts. He can feel himself pouting. He fucking pouts. About fucking.

David drinks half his wine in one gulp. “I mean you have total sexual agency over your body and your queer journey here but I would prefer not? To do that? This fast.”

Patrick stares at him. He’s stung, but he can see that this is genuine concern talking in David. He’s not being condescending, or superior now.

It’s still annoying.

He just watches, waits for David to continue. “Patrick, I do want to do that with you. We don’t have to wait, like, forever. But I don’t think you’re ready.”

“But you were ready.” Patrick counters, taking another big sip of wine.

“Mmm hmm, ‘if you stay ready you don’t have to get ready’,” David tosses off in his alarmingly casual explanation.

“Did you read that on some kind of motivational sports quotes calendar?” Patrick asks, squinting at David over the rim of his wine glass, still feeling a bit bruised on his newly found gay pride.

“I used to date this hockey player? He only spoke in locker room cliches like that,” David explains, picking up another slice of pizza.

Patrick peers at him. He’s still a little hurt and he isn’t done with this conversation but. But. “What do you mean by hockey player?”

David pulls off a long string of cheese, chews, swallows. Shrugs. “A hockey player. He came to my gallery for some menswear fashion show thing.”

“You mean like NHL?” Patrick feels his voice get breathy on the last syllable.

“I don’t know. Like a professional one. Like one that goes on hockey trips on planes.” David chews his pizza, stares down at the crust like he’s deciding if he wants to eat it.

Patrick purses his lips together, wondering how much he can push this point without annoying David, without forgetting that he himself was annoyed a few minutes ago. “Do you know what team he was on?”

“I don’t know the names of the teams. Is Canada a team?”

“Oh my god, David,” Patrick gives up, puts his glass down and stands up to grab David out of his chair and kiss him. His lips feel oily and his mouth tastes like pesto. David drops his pizza crust on the table and brings both arms up to wrap around Patrick.

Patrick kisses David until he feels him go warm all over, until he feels heavy in his arms and he wants to take him back to bed.

Patrick leans away from the kiss and takes his hands. He holds him at arm’s length and looks at him very seriously. “Just so we’re clear, for the record: you, David Rose, wanted _me_ to take it slower.”

David rolls his eyes, flustered. “No I wanted you to go slower for you, which was your original idea. I slowed it down for you, that’s not the same thing,” he insists, pulling Patrick back into a kiss.

“Uh huh,” Patrick hums, feels David’s hands roaming up and down his back, settling at his waist.

“I want everything to be perfect for you,” David pulls away suddenly and says, eyes shining and hands firmly holding Patrick by the hips.

“I know.” Patrick leans in. Kisses him once. “Thank you for caring enough to do that.” Twice.

David gnaws on his lip. “I...care about you. And I don’t want...I want you to do everything you want to do. Preferably with me. But also…” David trails off, leans his head against Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick turns, presses his lips to the warm, soft skin of David’s neck.

“It feels like a lot more than...it’s not just that.” Patrick stumbles over the words, but he gets them out.

David nods his head vigorously on Patrick’s shoulder, pulls him in a little tighter. “Yeah. Yep. I’m working on that too.”

  



End file.
